Learning to Compromise
by Midorima Kazunari
Summary: After having learned to comprise, Ginoza has to put those skills to good practice when Division Three gets an unusual new Enforcer (set after the movie).
1. Chapter 1

This story is dedicated to crimsonvortex (and is set after the movie).

* * *

August 2116

There's blood on my face. It gets into my eyes — something that wouldn't have happened a few years ago when I wore glasses to hide the truth of my parentage — my mouth, even up my nose. I can smell it, taste it, see it everywhere, and I can't escape the fact that I was the one who pulled the trigger.

"Oh! Oh, no," Tsunemori says, seeing the remains of the dead man splattered all over me, her best Enforcer, her most trusted ally. Disappointment creases her otherwise youthful countenance; I lower the Dominator, looking away, ashamed that I am the one to have caused her to make that face. "It's such a pity when there is no other way. Don't you think, Ginoza-san? Next time… next time, we'll work even harder to save them. It is our job, after all, to protect the people, not just the law."

I clear my throat, swallowing the stray blood, knowing that if the situation arises again, I'll pull the trigger, every damn time — I'm just a dog after all — because Ko bequeathed all this to me and I'll do what I have to in order to protect my Shepherd's Psycho-Pass.

* * *

Inspector Tsunemori leads us, her reluctant charges, down the hallway to the offices of Division Three where Inspector Domoto is breaking in his new partner, and two new enforcers.

"I've already met Inspector Urahara," Inspector Shimotsuki whines as she brings up the rear of the group.

Tsunemori looks back at her, peering around my shoulder. "But I made a fruit basket," she says, smiling as if that is the last word to be said on the matter.

As Tsunemori stops before the door, she squares her shoulders, makes sure the fruit is adjusted just right and then looks at the rest of us. I lift the corners of my mouth and wink at her. Yayoi stands straight and poised as usual, Sugo's manner is open and warm, while Hinakawa clings to the other man's jacket tail, hiding awkwardly behind him. Only Shimotsuki looks peevish and annoyed, her mouth twists up into a childish pout, her foot tapping impatiently, in a gesture I recognize from my petty days.

"Good enough," Tsunemori says, laughing and opens the door.

* * *

"This is my partner, Mika Shimotsuki," Tsunemori begins.

"I've told you already, I've met Urahara-san —"

"And these are our enforcers, Nobuchika Ginoza…" She always introduces me first, despite the fact that Yayoi has been in Division One longer. "...Yayoi Kunizuka, Sho Hinakawa, and Teppei Sugo. I hope we can all work well together," she says, ignoring Shimotsuki's rudeness, and bows.

"I hope you'll take care of me," Urahara says, matching her bow, then taking the gift from Tsunemori's hands. "Yes, I am Kaede Urahara and you already know Enforcers Takayuki Haga and Koichi Hatano." She gestures to the two old faces. "But you may not have met Hinata Iba or…" she stops, glancing around the crowd. "... where is Matsumoto?"

"The ducks gone," Haga answers as if that should answer all her questions. I give Tsunemori a quick tap on the heel of her shoe, our pre-arranged signal that my detective's intuition is sensing something she should be aware of in this situation. She glances up at me and is about to move things along, when the door open.

"Where have you been?" Urahara snaps irritably as a slight figure pushes Hinakawa aside.

"I took the bathroom pass," hisses the oddly modulated voice as he enters the room, head hunched and hands shoved into his pockets. He catalogues each of us as he slowly glides up to the front of the room to drop a bright yellow rubber duck on to Urahara's desk, then pirouettes and saunters up the center aisle, giving us all a good look at him. He stops right in front of me, hitches his hip on the desk, arms folded over his chest.

The voice is easier to explain, looking at him close up. He is ugly, but not in a traditional way; it's more like his features have been rearranged through violence. A straight line bisects his face, just to the left of his nose, and travels from scalp to chin, missing his eye by millimeters; one side is pure human flesh, and the other is some sort of cheap prosthetic. Instead of hiding it all under his lengthy curly dark brown hair, he has slicked it back, ringlets falling to his shoulders and framing his face.

As I inspect him, the left side of his mouth forms a smirk and a tenth of a second later, the right side joins, making an uneven smile. "Nice to meet you, Inspector. I'm Lurcher Four: Katashi — written with the characters 'hard' and 'firm' — Matsumoto, and I hope you'll take good care of me."

The snort that comes out of my nose surprises me, as well as Tsunemori, but not Matsumoto. "I knew when our eyes met that I'd like you," he says, "And now I know I was right."

"I'm not an Inspector," I correct. "I'm Hound One: Nobuchika Ginzoa."

* * *

Matsumoto's antics continue once both Divisions decide to have dinner together upstairs in the cafeteria. Even though he is almost as short as Tsunemori, he manages to push his way in right before the doors close and slink in between Yayoi and me, leaning his shoulder into my arm. When I adjust to give him more room, he closes the gap between us again, until I am trapped between him and the wall.

Even though it is uncomfortable, I bare with it, and the trip ends quickly enough, but by then, I've already gotten his number. His roaming hand on my hip, his soulless mechanical eye, and the dull stare that comes from the organic one, tells me that there is no heat in his come-ons, that he has pegged me as a target in some sadistic hazing ritual. I'm not overly fond of games.

As I step out of the elevator, he takes a deep breath. "Your smell…it's wrong."

"And how should I smell?"

"Blood and sweat," he says, as the confusion on the right side of his face catches up to the left side and then both clear. "You smell —"

"Clean? It's called shampoo and soap. I shower regularly. Perhaps you should try it." I smirk, simply because I can't help it.

He responds in kind, "Will you show me how, Senpai?" he asks, clipping the word oddly, popping the 'pai' sound.

"Be careful what you ask for?" I say, wishing I had my glasses still, so I could push them up my nose, perhaps showing him that he isn't the only one hiding secrets, maybe then he'd back down. But I don't, so I can't. Instead, I walk away, leaving him silent as the doors start to close. He scampers after me.

* * *

Once I have my food tray and take my seat at the long table, Matsumoto gets his and sits across from me. Tsunemori sits on my left and tries to make conversation that will include everyone.

"So, what did you do before coming here?" she asks the two new enforcers.

"I was in the rehabilitation center, naturally," says the odd young man, before leaving the table to refill his cup with more coffee. His hips sway oddly, almost womanly, as he stalks away, as if he's putting on a fashion show strut for our enjoyment.

His turn at the end is almost as dramatic and he returns to the table as Iba answers the question. "I was a minor, but I played soccer at an elite level. I got so obsessed with winning that it clouded my hue..."

Matsumoto lets his cup clunk loudly as he puts it on the table, making sure all eyes are on him before he swings his leg over the back of the chair and settles in with a smirk. I'm already used to the delay between the halves of his face, but he is altogether unnerving.

"Anyway, as I was saying — "

"You were a dancer," I say, cutting off the rest of Iba's story.

"Only if that's a euphemism for someone who gyrates around a pole and takes their clothes off for perverts." He grins, showing all his teeth, challenging me.

"You were a stripper?" Yayoi asks.

"I didn't think that was legal," Tsunemori blurts out.

"It is, probably always will be," Matsumoto's smile fades. "I was an authorized performer. My profession was considered therapeutic in keeping certain people's hues clear. Wasn't I the lucky one?"

* * *

After Matsumoto's uncomfortable confession at dinner, the talk mostly ends, but he looks smug and self-satisfied at having killed the conversation. We all quickly finish our food and go our separate ways.

Every time I take a break and look up from my screen, Matsumoto is loitering in the lobby area the three divisions share, the bright yellow rubber duck next to him, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip as he watches us. It's as if he's studying us for weakness and when he catches me looking at him, he gives me a half-smile and winks.

All day this goes on, and even though I have to use the bathroom, I wait until he disappears after the afternoon smoke breaks are completed to go across the hall.

When I come out of the stall, he's there, lounging against the sink, toying with a cigarette.

"Breaks are over, Matsumoto."

"Call me Katashi — written with the Kanji —"

"Hard and firm," I complete. "Yes, I remember." I step to the next sink and wash my hands.

"Can I call you Chika?"

"I'd rather you didn't," I say, not making a big deal out of it, but hoping he'll let it drop.

As I turn to leave, he blocks my path and lunges, knocking me back against the stall door. I make no move against him, even though my superior height gives me a great advantage. I want to see how this will play out.

He puts a knee between my legs and grinds against me, leaning in and resting his chin on my chest so that he looks directly up at me.

I sigh. "You've clearly have some sort of business with me, or a grudge. Why not just say your peace instead of keeping up this ridiculous farce?

His face relaxes and he pushes away from me, retreating to the other side of the bathroom. "You really don't recognize me."

"No, I don't."

"You were an Inspector then. You blew apart the woman who did this to my face." He gestures to the digitized prosthetic. "So, maybe I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember me. But after you did her, you turned your Dominator on me and all I could think was: why isn't he helping me? I was the victim, right? But no, I've got her blood and brains splattered all over my destroyed face, and instead of asking me if I was alright, if I needed medical assistance, you pointed that damn thing at me."

He shakes, the tremors going through his whole body until he has to stand up straight and pace the small space. I step back to give him more room.

"I'd never really considered myself a person — who could when the only thing Sybil said I was worthy of doing was taking off my clothing — but the others told me my hue check would be clear as long as I did my job and helped other people keep theirs low… but that didn't work for me. Every time I looked, my hue had clouded a little more no matter how good I _danced_ ," he spat the word. "No one gave a damn about my mental health… and then you turned the Dominator on me for judgement and I knew that I had been right the whole time. I wasn't a person; your blue light hit me and I thought I was dead. It was almost a relief, but then I woke up a few days later, my face a mess and my Crime Coefficient over three hundred." As he stops talking, he stops moving, and slumps against the wall across from me, arms crossed over his chest.

"I wish I could say I remembered the case," I told him, "but there were so many that happened just like that. It wasn't until Tsunemori became my partner that I even thought about another way, but it was far too late for me. I had to become a Latent Criminal to understand how inhumane I'd become."

"So you're one of us now and that makes everything alright?" he asks, standing tall.

"No, it doesn't, but maybe knowing that Karma didn't spare me will give you comfort." I shake my head. "Everyday, I check my Psycho-Pass and I'm relieved I don't have to be that person anymore — the one who decides to pull the trigger. It's much easier to be who I am — down deep — a Latent Criminal, a hunting dog, an Enforcer, then have all that pressure to be clear. It's… freeing in a way. You've only been an Enforcer for a few days, maybe you'll come to see it the same way, eventually."

He turns away from me, but the mirror shows his bifurcated face clearly. "I'm so glad you're free, but we're still stuck in here, labeled and —"

"Everyone is labeled. It's no different whether you are out there or in here. Sybil tells you who you are and what you're worth. From the moment we are born… to the moment we…" I make an explosion sound and illustrate it by throwing my hands wide.

"You've changed — what happened?"

"I've learned, thanks to some important people, what it means to be flexible."

"I'm plenty flexible," he says. "I could show you…" He returns to the flirty persona and now I've got that figured out too. When I get too close and he can't handle the honesty, he retreats behind the only thing he knows.

"Are you even interested in men?"

"I'm flexible in more ways than one. You're prettier than I remember, that ponytail… mmm, yeah, I could totally work my fingers through your hair… although you were handsome even then," he says, leering. "What do you say we get to know each other better, Senpai?"

I look at him and can't help bursting out in laughter. I shake my head, wipe tears away from my eyes, and walk out of the bathroom, still laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

Back in the office, it is only Hinakawa, Yayoi, and Tsunemori, so I feel comfortable asking, "Can I see Matsumoto's file? He told me I was the Enforcer who apprehended him, and I sincerely don't remember the case."

"Why don't you have access to personnel files?" Tsunemori asks, confused.

"I'm not an Inspector anymore."

"Sometimes I forget…," she says, blushing. She reaches over me to tap her password into my terminal. "You'll always be my Ginoza-senpai."

The windows flood open from his earliest days until now, and she reads over my shoulder as I organize only the information that is relevant to our unauthorized investigation. As he said, the report is filed under my old identification number and has my digital signature at the bottom.

 _Suzuha Matsumoto was judged and eliminated on January 10, 2113. Her Crime Coefficient at the time was 342. Present at the judgement were Inspectors Ginoza and Kougami, with Enforcers Kagari and Masaoka, as well as the Latent Criminal's spouse._

I'm a faster reader than Tsunemori, so I have to wait for her to catch up. Once she nods, I click on the next page, bringing up the full report.

 _The elevated stress level alert came in at 3:42 am on the day in question. We responded to the domestic disturbance call, entering the building and proceeding to the dual residence of twenty-three-year-old, Suzuha Matsumoto, and seventeen-year-old, Hatari Matsumoto, to find Suzuha on top of her husband, who was trying ineffectually to fight her off. I pulled Suzuha off of Hatari, but she fought back and Masaoka joined the struggle, while Kougami and Kagari pulled the husband away. When I had an unobstructed view with the Dominator, I took the shot, and the judgement was lethal. Seeing the husband's horrific wounds and obvious agitation, I likewise aimed my Dominator at him, and he was paralyzed for further treatment, his Crime Coefficient having exceeded normal values. He was given over to paramedics for treatment._

There is a photograph from the medical team, a close-up of the damage to his face. It is labeled clearly as acid burns, his right eye is recorded as missing. The next report is about his relocation to a mental health facility but I close his file, just as Shimotsuki returns with Sugo and Yayoi.

* * *

December 2116

I slide into my chair and pick up on the report while Shimotsuki paces up and down, working up a sweat over the lack of alerts. I'd admit it was unnerving, perhaps voicing her concerns would make her feel them less, but because of my good relationship with Tsunemori, Shimotsuki treats me the same way I used to treat Ko… or my dad, so I just keep my mouth shut and give her no reason to be angry with me.

Hinakawa mutters as he types, stopping occasionally to bite at his thumbnail. "Hey, Senpai," he says, looking out from under his fringe of hair, "I don't know what to say about Matsumoto in my report."

"What about him?" I ask, sighing.

"He said some… inappropriate things during yesterday's investigation, but if it wasn't for his quick action — that man can practically climb up a wall with his free-running skills — we wouldn't have caught the Latent Criminal, but I just want him to stop calling me Hina-chan and bullying me. It's not like I want him to get reprimanded or anything; I'm just tired of it."

"It's a mask, as sure as that prosthetic on his face. There's a lot of pain inside that man and he's trying to protect himself by driving you away. He'll stop, eventually, if you show that you have no interest in who he is inside. Just ignore him, or better yet, give him a ridiculous nickname in return."

"How do you know? Detective's intuition?" Hinakawa asks.

"It's the same reason he flirts with me. He and I had a _discussion_ about that and it's been better since then. You could confront him as well."

"But I don't care about him at all —"

"Write down exactly what he said to you," Shimotsuki snaps. "That's an order. Then Urahara-san can punish his behavior properly."

I shut my mouth because there is no convincing her. She's no detective, but simply an extension of the Sybil System that barely thinks about what she's doing.

"They're both right," Tsunemori pipes up. "Hinakawa, you need to write out a thorough report, but when he's around you, try calling him Hatari-kun, or ignore him completely."

XXX

"An Area Stress Level Warning has been issued," the announcement comes about an hour later. "The Inspector on duty will report…" I grab my trench coat, as Tsunemori and I are on for the next three hours.

"Can I take this one?" Shimotsuki asks. "I'm so bored!"

"You're not the only one," Tsunemori replies as she heads to the door.

In the elevator, I pull up the warning and have to read it twice. "Akane-chan," I say, now that we are alone, "it says the stress level alert is from our parking garage."

"What? That can't be. Was there a Latent Criminal brought in recently, or a prisoner transfer today?"

"No," I respond, shaking my head. "This is odd. Our first priority should be to get a Dominator or stun baton."

"Yes, I think your right."

* * *

I come off the elevator first, making sure to keep Tsunemori blocked behind me. We peer around the parked vehicles close to the door and, seeing no one, I escort her to the nearest paddy wagon, where she unlocks the Dominators from the side compartment.

With them in hand, and activated, we continue to follow the alert to the second sub-basement level where the Inspectors park their cars.

Crack!

"What was that?" Tsunemori asks in a whisper, as we both stop in our tracks.

"A smack? It was too fleshy to be anything else."

We edge forward, zigzagging between cars, so that she takes the lead to one car, and then I, the next. It's efficient and covers the most ground, even if I wish she'd let me take the lead all the time.

"Do it right, Matsumoto!" a familiar voice comes clearly from the next row. From where I'm crouched, I can't see Inspector Urahara, but I know it's her. Tsunemori gestures for me to wait and we listen as she gets down on her stomach and looks under the car, but quickly comes back to a crouch.

"You're making us the laughing stock of the MWPSB," she shouts, and there is another strike. I crane backward, trying to catch a glimpse of what's going on through the tinted windows of the car, but I'm at the wrong angle.

"Oh, just stop. You're awful at this," she huffs. "Tidy yourself up and go back to your room. I'll meet you there when I'm off duty and we'll finish the corrective action later." I hear an odd, metallic click.

"Handcuffs?" I mouth to my Inspector. She shrugs, shaking her head.

"Inspector Urahara!" Tsunemori calls. "There's an elevated stress level in this parking garage. Hurry, there might be a danger —"

"I'm sorry, Tsunemori-chan," she answers, coming around the park car, "I'm sure it's my fault. I brought Lurcher Four down here for a chat about his recent behavior so as to avoid contamination to anyone else's Psycho-Pass, but I guess I didn't think about the Area Stress Level."

I don't want to, but I point my Dominator at Matsumoto, who shrinks inwardly as it sights on him.

"Target is a registered Enforcer, Crime Coefficient is 412, Lethal Eliminator — " I point it at Urahara to clear the command. "Target is a registered Inspector…" Once the gun is safely locked, I holster it.

"How dare you aim that thing at me!" Urahara points her finger at me.

"He was just forcing the gun to lock," Tsunemori says, protecting me. "I think we all need to calm down. Did I hear that Matsumoto is confined to his quarters? How about I send Ginoza with him to make sure he goes straight there. Then you and I can write our report about this incident together?"

Matsumoto doesn't wait for me, but heads to the elevator, rubbing at his wrists. I have to walk behind Tsunemori to leave, and as I do, I tap her heel gently. She looks up at me, and I mouth the word 'wrists' and look pointedly after the other Enforcer. She watches him as I rush to catch up.

* * *

I wait until the elevator doors close before I speak to Matsumoto. "Are you alright?"

His body language — arms crossed over his chest, the thousand-yard stare, and his teeth grinding so loudly I can hear it over the background hum of the elevator — is so closed off that he doesn't even make a smartass remark.

"Do you need to file a grievance against Urahara?"

He snorts as his eyes land on mine for a moment and then he looks hard at the rising floor numbers like they are some sort of lifeline.

"If she hit you as a punishment for the report Hinakawa filed, she's out of line," I try.

He continues to answer me with silence. The door pings on the Enforcer level and he strides out without waiting for me. His is the second room from the emergency staircase — one of the smaller rooms — and he opens the door and disappears inside before I can stop the door from locking me out.

* * *

I go straight to Shion in the lab and ask her to bring up the cymatic scan data for the alert.

"The stress level was over six hundred," she says, puffing on her cigarette. She crosses her legs slowly, making sure her skirt rides up high enough to give me a show. "Matsumoto must have been very angry to get to that level when he's normally in the three hundreds."

"Six hundred? That's impossible. When I read him with the Dominator he was only four hundred. He couldn't have drop that far, that fast. Call up the maintenance record on that scanner and do a diagnostic."

"You're not an Inspector anymore, Ginzoa. You don't give me orders." She drops the butt end of her cigarette into my coffee cup.

"It's alright," Tsunemori says, coming in at the tail end of the discussion. "I trust Ginoza's intuition, bring up the information he asked for."

She pouts, but clicks away at the keyboard, bringing up the records. "There's nothing wrong with the scanner."

"Did you see Urahara's Crime Coefficient?" she asks, thinking along the same line as I am.

"No," I admit. "I only aimed at her to clear his numbers."

"I think we need to see the video feed of that garage."

Shion doesn't hesitate, "Are we about to see something scandalous?"

"I hope not," Tsunemori answers.

On the tape we see Urahara walked into a blind spot between two cameras, and dragging his feet, Matsumoto follows her, standing right at the limit of what's visible. He turns as if to leave, but something makes him stop. The voices are muffled by the sound of cars pulling in or out of the garage. He looks right at the camera and clearly says something, before following her off screen.

"What did he say at that last frame?" I ask, and Shion blows up the image, sharpening it as much as she can. We watch the one word on repeat.

"With only half his mouth moving at one time…" Shion says, as the computer flashes over and over again that there is an error in the lipreading program.

"Play it again, half speed," I order.

"If the computer can't get it, how can you?" she grouses.

"Just humor him," Tsunemori pleads for me.

I put my hand over one side of his face on the screen and watch the word that way, then the other. "Help, he's asking for help."

"But from what?" Tsunemori asks. We look at each other.


	3. Chapter 3

December 2116

The next time I see Matsumoto he's back to the old tricks as he steals a roll from my tray and slides into the chair next to me at the cafeteria during my lunch break.

"Your Crime Coefficient is in the lethal enforcement range. What are you doing about it?" I ask.

"Is stealing a roll such a horrible offense?" he asks, side-stepping the question.

"I wasn't referring —"

"What should I do about it? Sybil's already made up her mind about me. I'm a Latent Criminal, of course I have a high Crime Coefficient." He stirs the ramen, blowing on it with the left side of his mouth.

"The next time someone points a Dominator at you, you may not have Tsunemori around to save you."

"Is it so bad to go splat? I'm sure it hurts… for that brief moment, but then it's over: a second of terror for a lifetime of release." His face drops, angst looming under the roguish pretense. "What do you do to keep your number low, your hue clearer, Ginoza?"

The honesty of the question is almost lost in the novelty of him using my name for the first time, but there is no sarcasm in it. The hint of bitterness in his voice is as strong as my coffee, the last cup from the old pot.

In that moment, I make an insane call because the real desperation of his situation overrides my good sense.

"Do you like animals?"

* * *

"Taking me back to your rooms to show me a pet, Senpai?" All the sass and attitude returns as we get off the elevator, but curiosity is clear on his pale face. "I hope you're going to show me your snake." He cackles, but hesitates in the doorway as I enter and turn on the lights. Dime chirps, welcoming me home.

"Is that a dog?" he asks, quietly as all the emotions cycle through his mask.

"This is Dime; before… I trained therapy dogs. He's my companion now. His presence helps clear my hue and drops my Crime Coefficient."

Dime is well crate-trained and he waits at the door for me, sitting as I reach for the lead. I open the gate, clip it to his collar, and he comes to heel without command.

Matsumoto follows me back into the hallway and we take the elevator to the roof. He doesn't speak or ask to pet Dime, which is remarkable; all he does is study us.

When we reach the roof, I let Dime off the lead and he finds the doggie bathroom section without being told. I take a seat on the nearest bench and ready a treat and his favorite toy.

Once Dime has completed his business he trots over to me. "Would you like to give him a treat?" I ask Matsumoto.

"No, you go ahead," he says, perching on the partition that divides the dog walk from the smoker's lounge. Dime doesn't complain, he get's his treat and that's enough for him.

We sit there, Dime's happy panting and the click of his nails, as he lopes across the pavement to retrieve his ball as I throw it, are the only sounds for a while.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asks, but doesn't pull out a pack.

"I'd prefer you didn't smoke around Dime. He's old and I'd like him to live a good quality of life. He'll be the last dog I am allowed.

"Oh, ok."

Dime brings the toy back; he does not put it in my outstretched hand, but next to my foot, signaling that he's done playing. He flops on his side in front of me, panting slightly.

After a few moments, Matsumoto slips off the wall and into the seat next to me.

"How come they let you keep a pet?"

"I have no living relatives. When they asked Tsunemori what to do with the dog when I was put in rehabilitation, she asked them to let me keep him. My therapist signed off on it and she looked after him while I was away."

"Oh," he says, barely above a whisper. "I had a cat… it was a stray, but she always came to my place to eat and sleep. I wonder what happened to her, after…"

"Your family?"

"Never even visited me in the center," he says, staring at Dime.

"You can pet him, just offer your hand for him to smell first."

He does as instructed, his shoulders shaking as he pets my old dog's brown fur.

* * *

We go inside once the sun sets and the temperature begins to fall. Matsumoto follows me back to my apartment, heeling almost as closely as Dime.

"Can I use your bathroom? Salt water and electronics don't mix well," he gestures to his face.

"Of course, through there."

Dime eats a mouthful of kibble, laps at his water, and then climbs slowly onto the couch. Matsumoto comes out of the bathroom, carrying something and I look up from my place next to Dime. "It's removable?"

"Yup, it's a prototype that the Ministry is trying out on me. Usually people don't start with that question."

"Most people are rude, then."

He laughs and both sides of his face move in concert for a change, even if the scarred flesh of the right side of his face doesn't move as freely. "If you think it won't cloud your hue, I'll leave it off for now. It's hot and uncomfortable."

There are thick, deep grooves etched into his flesh where the mask connects with his face, attesting to the truth of his statement. His right eye is gone, but the empty socket holds electronics that the mask plugs into.

I check my Psycho-Pass, but there is no discernable change: one twenty-five and medium blue-green. My numbers are on a downward trend and my hue has improved under Tsunemori. While I'm at it, I check his as well.

"You've shown improvement today. Your numbers have gone down to three hundred and one."

His eye narrows.

"A few more points and you'll be in the paralyzer range."

"I didn't ask you to —"

"No, you didn't, Lurcher Four, but as Hound One, I have rights you don't. The way you're going now, you'll never get those authorizations."

His Crime Coefficient fluctuates as I speak, rising as high as three hundred and twelve, before it settles to three hundred and eight.

"Take a deep breath and hold it," I coach. He glares at me. "Trust me."

He takes a deep breath and holds it. As he does, I get up and show him the reading. The longer he holds his breath, the lower his numbers sink, until it bottoms out at three hundred and one. When he can't hold it any longer, he exhales the last bit and gulps for air. His reading rises one point, but stays steady.

"It's not a permanent fix, but it's enough to get a sudden decrease. Work on it in your spare time, whenever you're agitated — as an alternative to bullying Hinakawa, perhaps."

"So, it's ok if I'm a jerk to everyone else? I can still flirt shamelessly with you?"

"I'd rather you act accordingly to everyone in Division One; what you do with your own colleagues is their problem."

"Hinakawa reminds me of my little brother, but for teaching me this technique, I'll try to behave around him.

* * *

The next morning when I return from walking Dime, Matsumoto is coming out of his dormspace room, patting the pockets of his always rumpled standard-issue suit. As he looks up, and our eyes meet, whatever he is looking for is forgotten and he gives me a genuine smile that not only curves his lips, but reaches his real eye.

"On duty this morning?" I ask as I passed him, continuing further down to my door.

"Yeah, even though Domoto dragged me out at 2:45 last night. Iba is still down sick, and he needed another Enforcer…"

I check my watch, noting we have almost a half an hour to report for the next shift. "Give me a second to drop off Dime. I'll walk with you."

"I'm going to the cafeteria."

"That was my plan as well," I say, allowing Dime to slip in ahead of me. He goes straight to the crate and inside so all I have to do is close the latch. Matsumoto stands in my door way, still searching for something.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't find my cigarettes. They must be back in the room," he says, heading back up the hall. I follow him.

His door opens into a space that is similar to mine, only it is supposed to be half the size — given his rank — but it looks larger, simply because it is empty.

"Going for a minimalist theme?" I walk in after him, not asking permission since he never does at my door.

"It's not like I have money to buy anything," he says, continuing into the bedroom. In the corner of the room is a pile of gym towels roughly in the shape of a bed.

"What do you spend your monthly allotment on then? Cigarettes? Your Inspectors should have requested your personal belongings be transported here. It's no wonder you pick on people for amusement, if you have nothing else to distract you."

"I have an allotment? That's the first I've heard of it, I bummed these cigarettes off Tsunemori, and I've been trying to make them last."

"Ask Domoto about both," I suggest.

"Thanks, I will, 'cause Urahara is about as useless as a screen door on a shower stall," he says finally finding the pack on the bathroom sink.

"Where did you get the towels?"

"I stole them from the workout center," he laughs. "But let's hurry, I want to get something to eat — even at my desk — before Urahara yells at me again."


	4. Chapter 4

Later in December 2115

A week later, Matsumoto sticks his head in the doors for Division One, and ignoring everyone else, hollers at me like I'm a kilometer away.

"Hey, Senpai, when are you off duty next?"

He's not making any vicious comments to Hinakawa or anyone else, so I respond, with much less volume.

"About twenty minutes."

"And until that time, Matsumoto," Shimotsuki says, standing up at her desk to be heard better, "he'll be working on an assignment. If you want to speak to him about something unrelated to work, you can wait those twenty minutes."

"Yes, Inspector-sama," he says, snapping off a jaunty salute. "I'll be waiting outside until GInoza-kun can come out and play." The door slides closed.

"Grr," she growls, "I hate that Enforcer. Wait until Urahara hears about this insubordination."

"Shimotsuki," Yayoi says quietly, " That was a vast improvement on his previous behavior, don't you think?"

"Well," the junior Inspector clears her throat as her cheeks flush bright pink, "Um, I guess, maybe if you look at it from that perspective… You could say he… alright, I get it. I'll let it go, but Ginoza, I expect you to make it clear that I didn't appreciate the interruption and that there are better ways to get your attention than to shout across a room."

"Of course Inspector, I'll do my best to impress the need."

* * *

But he's not outside, nor in the bathroom across the hall, all that's left of him is a whiff of Spinel cigarette smoke, but that could belong to anyone.

He doesn't answer my call either, so I head down to the dorm level and knock on his door. He answers, out of breath, like he's been running.

"Hey, thanks for coming. Did I get you in trouble?" he asks, then rushes back inside. There are a stack of boxes and the stench of wet cardboard permeates the small space.

"Your things arrived, I see."

"Yeah, in the pouring rain, so I'm trying to salvage some things before it's too late. If you're not busy, I was hoping you could help."

"Certainly," I say, pulling out the pocket knife Ko left behind and slicing open the tape.

* * *

He doesn't own much, which seems odd, considering he was married. I unpack a set of dishes and cups, a smattering of silverware, two serving bowls, and a coffee pot. He runs back and forth, throwing half the contents of one box into another.

"Success!" he grins, the mask gone, and holds up a sleeping bag. "I won't have to sleep on towels tonight."

"Where is your furniture?" I ask from the kitchen.

"Oh… um, we rented it, along with the apartment, so I don't own any." He pulls open the next box, avoiding further eye contact.

"Did you order anything with your allotment yet?"

"No, I wanted to see what I had left. I haven't seen any of this stuff in almost three years…"

"Since your wife tried to kill you?"

He stops rifling through the next box, but doesn't look up. "Did you remember finally?"

"No, I read your file."

"I tried to read mine; it wouldn't let me, I didn't have high enough authorization. Will I get that if I get to be Lurcher One?"

"No, Tsunemori opened it for me."

"Oh, so she read it too?"

"Yes, but she's a good person. She won't bring it up unless you do."

I open the box, giving him time to think about what I've said, and find clothing. I start sorting the shirts from the pants when I smell… something. I lift a shirt to my nose and take a deep breath.

"If you want to smell the real thing," he says, smile firmly back in place, "you could just sniff me."

"I think everything in this box will need to be washed." I throw the shirt at his face. "It smells musty."

"If you say so," he says. "I'm overpowered by the wet cardboard. Most of my nasal passages had to be replaced, so sometimes the filters can't handle multiple strong scents at once."

I throw everything back into the box and take it into the bathroom where I stuff it all into the refresher for a thorough washing, except for one item, which I take back into the living room.

"This looks to big to fit you," I say, holding up the enormous bra. I stretch the straps between my fingers and flick it across the room at him.

It hits the floor, a few feet from him and he stares at the leopard print monstrosity. His hand goes to the right side of his face and rubs at the scars absently.

"Why did she do it?" I ask, dismantling the box and throwing it into the pile we've made by the front door.

"Why? Probably because she'd had enough of my shit."

"I sympathize with her, all of your colleagues do."

"I didn't even know her, she was just another nameless, faceless person who watched me dance to keep their hue low. But one day, she came up to me after my shift and told me Sybil told her we were a good match for marriage. I was seventeen years old, we were married the next week, and we moved in together."

"That's… very sudden."

"It was, but Sybil's never wrong, right? So, if I was supposed to marry this woman who was five years older than me, and who I knew nothing about, who was I to argue."

"Did Sybil say that, or did she tell you Sybil said that?"

"She showed me results. It said we were ninety-five percent compatible."

"Five percent…"

"Yeah, so we mostly worked opposing shifts and I was lonely, so I made friends with the neighbor, a young man working the night shift like me. He was some sort of office worker — I don't remember what kind, but he was sweet, and listened to me complain about my day, and we shared cigarettes," he laughs. "I fell in love with him over time, even though he wasn't interested in more than a friendship, and she was jealous of how much time I spent with him and got angry when I talked about him."

"Ah, in her mind, you had jilted her?"

"When we were together, I did my husbandly duties. She wanted to have children right away, so we…" he sighs, "… we actively tried when we were together, but it was difficult for me. As you can see, she was a big woman." He points at the bra. "And I wasn't attracted to her. I took the pills to get it up, but she resented that I needed to do so."

"She came home one morning to find me masturbating to a picture of our neighbor and she lost it. She hit me, and I went down. I guess I should mention she was a professional chemical engineer who worked in recycling, but she was a big, big woman, at least your height, but with a good twenty-five kilograms on you so it's not like just anyone could knock me out with one clean hit, but when I came to, she was over top of me, and she poured something on my face, screaming at me that I would never look at anyone other than her again."

"That's when we came in," I pick up. "I didn't remember it, reading the report, but I remember that huge woman screaming."

"Do you remember me now?"

"Yes, yes, I do. I wish..."

"Don't. Just don't. It's over now, right? Thanks to you, she can't hurt me again."


End file.
